


My Disorders Personified

by LacrimosaTheDark



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Depression, Gen, Intelligence - Freeform, POV First Person, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacrimosaTheDark/pseuds/LacrimosaTheDark
Summary: This is a personal story to help a friend understand my disorders by me personifying them and adding them as people to my experiences involving said disorders.





	1. My Disorders Have Faces Now

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone reading this, this is a personal story. As expected, names are changed for safety. And the disorders I have are often different for other people, particularly ASD, so don't expect this to be a perfect representation of everyone with these disorders. This is just me.
> 
> For those who don't know, here's what these characters are from and why I chose them:
> 
> Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa. If you don't know, SPOILERS  
> Virgil from Sanders Sides. Virgil is literally Thomas Sanders' anxiety personified.  
> Castiel from Supernatural. Castiel is odd even among angels and is often thought to be autistic.  
> Sherlock Holmes. I'm not saying I'm that smart, but I am that fascinated and eccentric, not to mention Sherlock has been theorized to be autistic since autism became a thing, and BBC version teased Aspergers which is essentially what I have, or close to it.

To help me visualize, I’ve made my disorders and odd tendencies into familiar characters.

My Depression is Junko. She likes to assault me at the most random times. Medication has kept her at bay, but sometimes it makes her stronger. She gets worse when I’m alone or in negative company.  
“No one needs you,” she says.  
“What are you good for?” she says.  
“You’re better off dead anyways,” she says.  
And usually, I agree with her.

My Anxiety Disorder is Virgil. He likes to stay with me, all the time. He worries about me, and so I worry about everything around me. He tends to pair up with the others to become more forceful, even if he’s only trying to help. He often keeps me paralyzed and terrified of everything, from asking for help to leaving my house.  
“You have to be careful,” he says.  
“You shouldn’t do that, or anything,” he says.  
“What if they dislike you?” he says.  
And usually, I agree with him.

My Autism Disorder is Castiel. He likes to point out odd things. He (and therefore I) will mimic in order to better understand. He also causes me to ask strange questions, that I don’t realize are odd because I don’t quite understand. We are oblivious to just how we are strange. We are also constantly accused of doing wrong, even when we have the best of intentions.  
“I don’t understand,” he says.  
“What is so strange?” he says.  
“I was only trying to help…” he says.  
And usually, I agree with him.

My High Intelligence is Sherlock. He is over-analytical and causes me to snoop out information, and become borderline frantic when I don’t have answers. He and Virgil tend to pair up with each other and send my senses into overdrive.  
“What’s that?” he says.  
“What does that mean?” he says.  
“You need to know,” he says.  
And usually, I agree with him.


	2. Sleep Through Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I introduce Junko, my depression.

Junko sits on my bed with me, stroking my hair, something she reminds me no one else will ever do. She likes to whisper in my ear.

“She’s ignoring you because she doesn’t need you,” she says. My few friends are busy, too busy for me. I should know it’s not because of me, Sherlock would sometimes remind me of this, but often he is absent, and Junko is very convincing.

“I know,” I often say. 

“Your brothers think you’re a failure,” she says to me.

“I know,” I say, beginning to scratch my arms. Cass is influencing me again.

“What’s the point in doing anything if you’ll just fail?” she purrs.

“There isn’t one,” I say, laying down. She hums affirmatively as I set my laptop to play Thomas Sanders videos as background sound to brighten my mood as I try to sleep through the black mood.

Sometimes Junko is gone when I wake up. Sometimes she’s not.

“Sleep well?” she asks mockingly. I can only sigh.

“Sort of,” I’ll say. I’m still tired. She does that to me. But at the same time it was quiet, silent lack of consciousness. It’s better than being awake.

“Well, why don’t you go back to sleep?” she asks.

“Can’t,” I say regrettably. I’ve slept for too long for it to be totally healthy. Plus the sunlight through my window makes it hard to reclaim my blackened state.

“Then draw,” she says, nodding at my sketchbook. It’s the only thing she’s truly kind about. She helps me to get inspiration and motivation to be creatively productive. To write, to draw, to design, to work. I pick up my book and begin to draw.

I decide to draw her and her sinister smile and twisted eyes.


	3. Panic Attacks are "Not Fun TM"

Virgil stays at my side constantly. I can’t so much as step out of my room without him.

“You should stay in your room,” he says. “If you don’t, Luci will attack you.”

I sigh. “But if I don’t do the dishes, my mum will be upset,” I reply. He nods in assent.

“Your mother is scary when she’s mad,” he says. “But your mental health is priority. Come back if he comes after you.”

“But he’ll follow me, and I can’t keep him out,” I say, nodding at my doorknob, void of a lock.

“I know,” Virgil says, sighing irritably.

“Can’t I go for a walk?” I ask.

“In the sun? Which can give you cancer?” he says, his voice raspy and intimidating. “And alone? As a female who hasn’t taken martial arts in years, and without a knife on you?”

I cringed. “Okay, point made.” I don’t want to be kidnapped. It’s a fear I’ve had ever since I can remember. Thank you, Mum, for watching Law and Order with your children. 

But I have to do the dishes, so I leave the lonely sanctuary of my room.

As predicted, Luci attacks me. It starts verbally, as usual. He gives me attitude and I look at him in bewilderment.

“What the fuck did I do?” I ask.

“Fuck you,” he says.

Castiel is at my side too now. I scream.

Virgil kneels next to me as I collapse to my knees, panting and borderline sobbing. I can hear blood rushing in my ears, too fast, too fast, my breath leaving my mouth toofasttoofasttoofast. Virgil attempts to soothe me, walking me through a breathing exercise that his inspiration taught me, the only one that’s ever worked.

“Breathe in for four seconds.” I do, and to help me, he counts the seconds.

“Hold it for seven seconds.” I hold my breath. It feels both like I’m dying and like I’m coming down.

“Breathe out for eight seconds.” I exhale slowly, and half of the tension in my body eases away, my thoughts are clearer. I look down to see the effect of the panic attack.

Luci, in a rare moment of kindness, had put a paper towel under me between my knees to catch the drool and tears from hitting the floor. I feel the drool on my lips and the tears on my cheeks. I see them pooling on the paper towel below. And I see, because of Castiel’s presence, that there are scratch marks on my arms and legs, and my hands, palms and the underside of my fists, are red. I would guess from the burn that my neck and chest are scratched, too.

Virgil reminds me to breathe and Castiel apologises as I stand on shaky legs, using the counter for balance. I glance at the dishes, but a look from Virgil begs me to retreat. Harmony told me to get in the sun when I get depressed, and I can see Junko creeping into the edge of my vision, so I return to my room to retrieve my laptop and headphones and go to sit on the stone steps of the porch. 

I sit down and turn on some music. I’m feeling My Chemical Romance and decide to listen to a mashup of SING and Tag, You’re It by Melanie Martinez, mixed by Quentin Mashups, and playing it on repeat. Virgil and Cass sit at my sides, Cass glaring at Junko irritably and Virgil looking at her with nervous anticipation.

I wait to see whether or not she’ll approach while listening to music and attempting to write.


	4. Therapy and Waiting Rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy is a thing.

Castiel is at my side most when I interact with people or in public. He’s there when I stare blankly when people talk to me.

“--Lacie?” 

I blink and pretend I was listening, humming noncommittally, continuing to stare out the car window. It’s my grandmother. She doesn’t mind my eccentricities so much. She’s used to them, she says.

She’s taking me to an appointment with Harmony, my therapist. Castiel and Virgil will accompany me inside.

Castiel insists I wear my “armor”. My armor being a black tattoo choker, silvery anti-possession earrings, one with a chain and cuff, a bow based on his inspiration in my hair, a hat (usually a dark grey beanie), and bag also inspired by his origin and filled with books, notebooks, sketchbooks, pencils, and my laptop. Sometimes it’s also my SPN Family LOVE v-neck and my green cargo pants. It’s odd, but it puts Virgil at ease and makes Cass happy, so it’s worth it.

I say goodbye to my grandmother and get out of her car, confirming that she’ll pick me up after. I go into the building and press the button for the elevator. Cass and I fidget as I shift foot to foot and wait. When it opens and no one is there, I inwardly sigh in relief and get in, pressing the button for my floor.

The waiting room is another beast entirely, and I’m usually stuck there for at least half an hour, as I’m 15 minutes early for my appointment, and Harmony is 15 minutes late. I tolerate it because Cass and I feel rude for interfering with someone else’s therapy. I mean, I’m depressed, anxious, and autistic, but smart enough to fly under the radar until adulthood. There are people with more serious problems, like abuse. I don’t want to take time away from them.

With Cass, I find a seat away from everyone else, usually right by the door so i can see anyone who comes in and get out quickly when Harmony comes for me. I pull out my laptop and put on some music. Right now I’m writing my Pokemon story, so I put on my Jon Bellion playlist. When I get bored writing, I instead watch Thomas Sanders’ videos with Cass. Sometimes, Sherlock takes the opportunity to come out and think, wondering about the other patients waiting for their turn with their therapists and doctors.

When Harmony shows up, she says “Come on girlie, let’s go!” in that loud voice of hers. It’s gritty from her smoking, but not harsh or unpleasant. But the sudden sound is jarring to me and Cass. I awkwardly rush to put my things back in my bag to follow her. “We’re going outside,” she says, leading me to the stairs once I’m ready. That means she’s going to smoke. Unlike Cass, I have enough control to not frown and just nod. I want to frown, though and it’s only her feelings that keep me from doing so.

I follow her down the stairs and we chat. I’m a little quiet and meek because anyone could be around and I’m nervous. It doesn’t get better once we’re outside. She sits on a bench and lights a cigarette, asking how I’ve been since I last saw her. I crack an awkward joke about how cruel my little brother is. Cass and I fidget and breathe unevenly as the smoke is blown towards my lungs in the wind.

Once we go back inside, into her room, I’m fidgety but generally better. I know her, sort of, so when it’s just us I speak louder and more confidently, and make more awful jokes, also attempting to share things I love with her, like my music.

My appointment ends and sometimes I feel anxious and Virgil and Junko exit with me. Sometimes I feel better for having gone and I walk out with Cass holding my hand. Sometimes she gives me something to think about and I leave with Sherlock muttering in my ear, thoughts buzzing in my head and research imminent. And I know it’s so inconsistent because we still are going through systems and paperwork. Which is annoying, but it must be done.


	5. Random Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I need answers. Also known as MY LIFE.

I stare at the ceiling, overwhelmed with a thought I could never have the courage to research.

“Do you think someone could die of blood loss from bruising if none of the bruises were in or on vital organs?” Sherlock asked. I groaned.

“I don’t know,” I said, hating the words coming out of my mouth. “Maybe. It makes sense whether they can or not.”

“Why do people have hair?”

“...Why do people have hair?” I mumble, shifting my laptop into my lap and trying to google it, along with the multiple other questions Sherlock came up with. When I couldn’t find anything, we both irritably mussed our hair in frustration.

“I can’t find anything!” I complain angrily. I get fidgety and begin pacing. 

The same thing happens, with Castiel at my side as well, when I anger my mother or brother.

“What did I do?” I’ll ask adamantly, because I need to know.

“Shut up” or “Fuck off” Luci will say.

“Just walk away,” Mum will say.

No one answers. I growl and mess up my hair, scratch my arms. I need to know. I storm off and stew in my ignorance, blasting music.


	6. Rose <>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Best Friend

Rose is the best thing to ever happen to me.

It was a little convoluted when it happened. She kinda broke my heart. I was fragile and stupid. But at the same time I was alone. High school was tough, and I was an outcast among outcasts. I had few true friends and a small number of acquaintances.

Though miles and miles away, Rose was there when no one was. At first it was just with distraction, but the closer we got the more genuine support was given on both sides. I would say we are inseparable in our own way, still having never met. 

She doesn’t mind Cass.

She humors Sherlock, sometimes wonders with us.

She tries to calm Virgil’s effect on me.

She pities Junko’s effect on me.

When Junko and Virgil get too overwhelming, I turn to her. She usually keeps me from doing something rash and stupid. Junko surely doesn’t. Virgil makes it worse sometimes.

Rose has been almost entirely good for me. She’s my best friend in the whole world.


	7. More Fighting and Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which my brother uses my diagnosis as an insult.

It was pointed this time. I was only trying to help. He yelled at me.

“You act like I’m a fucking autist!” he said, harsh and loud.

I was frozen. After a moment of shock, all I could say was, “What...?”

“You act like I’m fucking retarded!”

I had enough.

I went to his door to open it, to yell at him for using my condition as an insult, like I’m somehow lesser than he is or that I supposedly think he’s lesser if he were to be like me. I barely get it open before he slams it in my face, bashing my glasses into my eye. It hurts. My hand goes directly to the source of the pain. Virgil is the only thing keeping me upright.

“Leave,” Virgil demands. “You’ll wake up your mom if you keep this up. Go. Now.”

Lucifer pops his head out of his door and glares at me. Before I can stop myself, I hear my voice shouting, “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Virgil groans at my side.

“You yell at me for opening your door,” he snaps.

“But I don’t slam it in your eye!” I yell back. He slams his door and I finish grabbing my laudry and crying. I don’t manage to make it back to my room before my mother comes out to see what happened. “What’s going on?”

I try to explain through my tears and choked sobs, but she just growls at me halfway through.

“You two are ridiculous,” she snarls, stomping off back to her room.

I continue to cry as I drag my basket back to my room. I head for the bathroom to clear makeup from my face, to see if it’s bruising. My eyeshadow is in black streaks in my tear tracks down my cheeks. I suppose that’s what I get for going for and Anxiety-inspired look. I take my glasses off and wet a cloth and wipe it off. It's a little red, and warm, but not purple. Yet, anyways. I don’t put my glasses back on. It feels wrong.

Going back to my room, I check my phone for comfort. I want sympathy, I want someone who will understand and help me instead of push me away like my mother did. Nothing from Rose since she called me hours ago, even though I texted her about an hour ago.

“She didn’t text back because she doesn’t really care,” Junko says airily. I hesitate before I nod in agreement. I’d just told her today how important she was to me. Again.

“She’s likely just playing Overwatch. You are aware that she gets wrapped up in it,” Sherlock supplies. He’s getting better at showing up at times like this, but it’s still not always helpful.

Junko shrugs. “So, her game is more important than you are?”

Sherlock says nothing.

Castiel knows my pain and offers me my DS and the most recent book I’m reading, Anna Dressed in Blood, and I lay down with them, sobbing helplessly as I continue to try to find just the right Pidove.

I hate it when Junko wins. But she usually does. That’s the result when your family is on the cusp of hating you.


	8. Dysphoria and Itching

The dysphoria happens a lot at random times. Sherlock is nowhere to be found, Castiel falls into step with Virgil, often after Junko has made me vulnerable.

“I feel wrong,” I tell them. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Sometimes it’s my hips. Sometimes it’s between my legs. Sometimes my shirt’s too tight, my underwear’s too loose, my clothes are the wrong fabric. My hair is the wrong length and color, my chest is too big, my body too squishy, my teeth uneven, my hips not wide enough. My skin itches beyond belief, like I am under my own skin and I can only scratch myself out like a butterfly in its chrysalis. 

“Itch it,” Castiel says. “Change your clothes.”

None of my clothes feel right, but I feel more uncomfortable in just my underwear. I know I’d feel worse naked. My head hurts and my face itches from the tears that had been on it. Nothing fits. Nothing works.

These swing happen most around my period, when Junko laughs at the bloodstains I leave in my bed, and nothing is right. But sometimes it just happens. After Virgil or Junko have worn me out and I am Castiel’s to comfort.

The itch is unbearable, but I must bear it. I want everything to stop. I want to stop existing without dying, to fall into nothingness without sleeping, to disappear and return when things are better, when my skin isn’t a barrier keeping me inside.

I haven’t figured how to do that yet.

I just change until Castiel and my body almost approve of an outfit, and curl up in bed to try to sleep through this agonizingly stressful phase of knowing I’m not me.


	9. All of Them and My Friend

I’m alone most of the time, with the exception of my own thoughts. And sometimes Rose, through my phone. But a lot of the time she has work. So I’m alone in my room with Sherlock muttering, pacing back and forth as I research every trail that comes to our mind.

I manage. I’ve learned to cope. I use my phone and Rose, I use Youtube and Facebook, I read. I cope. But one thing keeps popping up.

“Is Jadie okay?” Virgil asks.

I worry. I thought she was my best friend, and I haven’t heard from her in two weeks. “I don’t know.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Junko butts in. “She has more important things to do. She’s got better things to do than deal with you and your issues.”

The hand that had been reaching for my phone backs away.

“Maybe you should check on her?” Castiel suggests. “Ask if she’s doing well.”

“But what if that annoys her? Or what if you catch her in class?” Virgil says. “Won’t she be angry? Maybe she’ll ignore you even more for it.”

“I...I can’t...” ‘I can’t handle that’ I want to say, but I’m too scared to give the words life by speaking them into the air. I grip at my hair. “She doesn’t like me,” I’m able to force out.

“What evidence do you have of that?” Sherlock asks. “You are well aware that she is busy. Changing majors requires a lot of work, and the school year has started. You are also aware she reads and writes at a much slower pace, meaning she has less time than you would in her position. Not to mention she has family and other friends. Having other priorities does not mean that she dislikes you.”

“But...” Sherlock is simultaneously the hardest and easiest to argue with. “Does she not have the time to even tell me she’s too busy to chat? A text only takes a second.”

“For you,” he says. “And recall that you frequently forget to respond to even Rose.”

“For a few minutes, a few hours tops,” I say. “That’s not the same as days, weeks, months.”

“Perhaps. But at the same time, your evidence is entirely flimsy and circumstantial. There is potential for both sides. It is not an illogical assumption to presume that she still cares, nor is it that she no longer cares. You do not have enough data to come to a conclusion.” 

I roll over, face down on my bed. “I HATE IT WHEN YOU’RE INCONCLUSIVE.” I groan irritably.

His lip quirks but he otherwise ignores my outburst. “You are aware that you are suffering from inference observation confusion and are capable of rejecting it.”

I sigh and try to get myself to stop worrying.

“...But what if she’s hurt? Or dying?”

“CAN IT, VIRGIL.”

My anxiety usually beats out logical thinking, but it’s always a fight on both sides.


	10. Medication Bump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My medication changed, and I did not handle it well.

I am losing it. I wasn’t expecting this at all.

I take medication. I’m pretty sure it’s for the depression. I’ve seen Junko less, but she still hangs around.

My doctor decided to increase my dosage in an attempt to make it easier. And it went to hell.

I didn’t have any side-effects when I started the medication originally (besides being incredibly tired) so I was caught off guard when my stomach began to hurt. 

I tried to go to bed, sleep through it, but I stayed up too long, my brother got to me. He’s an ass, but this time I was set off by something particularly minor. Usually I would have growled at him. I wouldn’t have screamed.

Castiel and Virgil were at my sides immediately. Virgil went between riling me up and calming me down. Castiel tried to give me strange ways to keep myself together. I scratched my arms raw, I pulled my hair, I banged my head, fists, and wrists on walls and windows, I clawed at walls, I paced the kitchen by the windows like a caged animal, muttering to myself.

“It’s the medication,” Sherlock reasoned. “You will be fine. It will pass.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” I muttered amongst my repeating of “I’m not okay”. Sherlock sighed at the mention of feelings but I was too wrapped up in my insanity to notice.

When my mother finally got home from work, she sent asked what was wrong and sent me to bed. She also apparently explained to Luci what had happened; I had been thrown off by the shift. I was terrified. Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to fall asleep. 

The next morning, my head ached, my skin was raw and my wrists were bruised. My memory felt blurry, so Virgil urged me to write things down and I grabbed for my laptop. Junko giggled from the corner and I felt tears on my face as I typed. Castiel sat at my back, and Virgil gently nudged my side insistently to keep me focussed. I wrote my feelings as they poured out, and even Sherlock looked sympathetic and comforting when I typed that I wanted to know everything while I knew I could not, and it was maddening. 

I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to sleep.


	11. Mother's Not Who I Thought She Was

I don’t know why my misfortune shocks me still. Honestly, I blame Virgil.

My computer was falling apart. Quite honestly it had been since I got it, with white spots on the screen. Not long into its life the camera stopped working. A month ago I found the microphone didn’t work either. A few weeks ago, the charge plug stopped working properly, but I was luckily able to make a temporary fix. But then, it began crashing, no warning, no reason. And then the battery ran out.

“Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” I was pulling at my now short hair (a little more concerning than before, honestly) and on the verge of tear.

“Crap. You _don’t_ have the money to pay for this,” Virgil said. “You won’t until after semester starts, but you need a computer to be _in_ school. This is not good, this is very not good.”

“This isn’t something you can deal with, not right now,” Junko said, examining her perfect red nails. “With everything falling apart around you? No money, inconsistent therapy, no medication, no friends, a cruel sibling and an angry mother? Not to mention the dysmorphia, having to bring it up to your therapists.”

I reflexively wrapped my arms around my chest at her words. “Stop, I can’t do this right now.”

“No, you can’t. That’s my point,” Junko snarked.

“But you have to,” Virgil said, both threatening and encouraging.

“You’ve done all you could for now,” Sherlock added to the conversation. “You’ve asked your friends if they had spares, you’ve asked your brother for help, you’ve spoken to an expert. All you can do at this point is wait.”

“But without my computer I can’t _write_. And all my music’s on there, now I can’t listen to it, what if I lose it? And what about my drawings and edits? What about my Steam games? Fuck, I can’t update my works if I can’t type.”

“Your only source of validation,” Junko hummed.

“Shut up, assbutt,” Cass said, rubbing my arm. “Maybe playing with Play Doh or pacing will calm you down? Maybe drawing?”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I can’t even keep my head on straight.”

It wasn’t much longer before my mother and brother came home. They saw me pacing manically with tear stains on my face and my brother immediately sat at the table to look at my computer. Still, he was just a kid, there was only so much he could do, especially with a laptop. His specialty was PCs.

Of course, my anxiety made me harsh. I did make a request of him, and he didn’t take it well, and he devolved into threats and insults. I leaned against the wall, blood rushing in my ears, tears running down my face.

The last thing I remember concisely hearing was my mom yelling at me to not get snot on her carpet, and that’s when the dam broke.

I screamed, as what usually happens when these start. I fell to the floor. I couldn’t breathe, I was sobbing and panting, my vision was dark, every word that passed around me was either immediately forgotten or sounded like I was hearing it from underwater. My fingers apparently dug into the carpet, leaving finger indents where they’d been.

When I finally started to come back to myself, at least 15 minute later, maybe even half an hour, my mother seemed to notice.

“Are you calm?”

Cass bristled and glared at her, a distant part of my mind hurt and furious with her uncaring, not understanding attitude. But I still couldn’t answer. I hadn’t fully caught my breath. I could finally hear Virgil whispering the breathing exercise in my ear. I tried to follow, but my initial success was minimal.

Lucifer was, surprisingly, better than our mother. Not good, because he still had an attitude and kept mumbling harshly to himself, but when I could finally understand and respond to outside stimuli, he offered me the paper towels, which I shakily took, wiping my eyes and nose. After that, my smallest dog Arie came over to see me, sitting in front of me and gradually crawling into my lap, and Cass and I pet and hugged her. She was really the most supportive person in the family, and she was always happy to snuggle with me.

But Junko’s cruelty, Cass’ anger, and Virgil’s pain kept one thought on loop. My first panic attack in front of my mother, and she berated me, and made no effort to help me. That thought haunted me that night even as I tried to sleep.

It was made worse when I talked to my brother later that night and he told me he could not care less about how to handle my panic attacks.

Luckily my friend Jadie helped me get in touch with her friend (my sort-of friend) Amber, whose boyfriend worked with computers, and could lend me a garbage computer that could only run a browser. But it was something. I’d have Docs for writing, AO3 for reading, and my email for school. I’d be okay, at least for a while. I’d be okay. And my father was willing to help me find a new computer too. Virgil should have been put at ease.

He wasn’t.

I spent the whole next day worrying about what my brother and mother had said to me. I watched Danganronpa V3 on the XBox until Lucifer came home from school. Thankfully, he didn’t take too long before going into the bathroom for a shower and spending nearly two hours in there. And for once he was silent through Supernatural. No stupid arguments or anything. And then he fell asleep. So while we were still not okay, there wasn’t a spark to ignite the undercurrent of conflict.

The same could not be said for my mother. She came home from work, tired from a long day. I should have known better, but I can never see her, when else could I really talk to her? Her reaction was unexpected.

When I asked to talk about it, she said she’d spent years tending to my “special needs”, and she was sick of it. She says she has so much on her plate, which is true, but it’s not fair to compare it to mine, for either of us. And she defended her comment about me getting snot on the carpet. When she went to her room, I couldn’t help but cry. Junko didn’t even have to open her mouth to get me to break down. I tried to keep quiet, Virgil shushing me softly. It apparently didn’t work because my mother stormed out of her room and glared at me on the couch.

“Stop it or take it to your room.”

I stared at her, wide-eyed. “W-what?”

“You’re too loud. I can hear you over my TV.”

“I--I-I’m t-trying to be q-quiet-t,” I whimpered.

“Well, it’s not working,” she snapped.

I was in shock. I was hurt. “What happened to you?”

“I got mean,” she said, sounding just like something straight out of Mean Girls or Heathers. 

When she slammed her door, I curled up again and cried, listening to Virgil’s pleas of quiet to keep my mother away. Sherlock was, unsurprisingly, absent. Junko watched me knowingly from across the room. Virgil counted softly, reminding me to breathe. Cass held out the XBox controller to me.

“Watch more Danganronpa,” he said. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

It didn’t. It was only Chapter 1, and the first murder victim was one of the characters I’d quickly grown attached to because he was clever and mysterious and kind. I couldn’t even watch the investigation. I went to bed and decided I wouldn’t be eating for a while. Mum doesn’t like it when I accidently eat food she planned to eat. Safer not to eat at all. But I refilled my glass and bottle with water. I couldn’t be dehydrated on top of hungry.

I was willing to suffer, but I’m not dying yet. Rose still cares, and Jadie might too. I can’t do that to them. So I’ll just bury myself in writing for a while. I hope I’ll be okay. Maybe something will change. I hope so. I just need a win.


	12. Freeze Your...

I have the worst luck. My first day without food was a day off of school, so I was trapped in my room. Until I got an email from the library that my book that I’d requested came in. So I dressed up in layers. Looking in the mirror, with my coat and scarf, I looked like Sherlock. With a confident smile, I left, ignoring my brother’s questions. 

I listened to American Beauty/American Psycho by Fall Out Boy for most of my walk. I kept anxiously looking at the time.

“Are you gonna make it before they close?” Virgil asked. “Are you going to be okay? It’s cold, your legs are numb. You didn’t bring a knife or your spray, what if someone comes up behind you?”

“I don’t really care right now, Virgil,” I said. “I’ll survive. And I think I have enough time to get there. Just listen to the music and relax, please?” He huffed but reluctantly did so, mumbling about time.

I should have listened to him, turned back, called someone. I should have left the house sooner. I got there ten minutes before closed, but the door was locked and the lights were off, the workers leaving.

“No…” I growled.

“Are you here for the library?” one of the librarians asked sympathetically as she exited the building. “I’m sorry, we close early on Fridays.”

“But I got here...I walked all the way here, just to pick up a book.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. I don’t think she was sorry. “We’re open tomo--oh, no, it’s a holiday. But you could come back on Monday?” As she headed to her car, I exhaled sharply. My throat felt raw in the way it does when the urge to snarl animalistically at the world overtakes me. My eyes stung as the tears filling them were attacked by the cold, late-autumn air.

Before I could so much as consider calling my father, my grandmother (on my mother’s side) called.

“Lacie?” she asked. “I was wondering if you have anything tomorrow?”

“No,” I said roughly.

“I have some grocery shopping to do. Could you help me tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I’m not usually so short with her. She doesn’t deserve it, with all she does for me.

I know she heard my voice crack when she asks, “Are you alright?”

“No,” I said, holding back tears. “I’m not.” I explained my situation, speaking fast through angry, tearless almost-sobs.

“You’re at the library? Stay there, I’ll come get you.”

“Okay,” I said softly. I didn’t have the energy or patience to argue. I was just...done. With everything.

I stood outside the library, breathing clouds into the air, leaning against the brick wall. After a few minutes of depressed boredom, I ignored Virgil and listened to Castiel, and I began softly singing Freeze Your Brain from Heathers. That song spoke to me a lot that day.

When my grandmother finally came, I apologised for her coming out. “I know you don’t like driving at night.”

“It’s fine,” she assured me. “It’s really only a problem when the weather’s bad, and it’s clear tonight. And it’s too cold for you to walk home.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely. After that, I’m ashamed to admit, I angrily complained about her daughter. To her credit, she listened to me rant, and said nothing. I don’t know if she thinks I’m wrong, or she just doesn’t want to get involved, but I felt better being able to tell someone.

Reluctantly going inside, I walked past my brother, answering his question with succinct sharpness before hiding away in my room. Junko and Cass coaxed me into singing more, and then writing about the song. It did make things a little better, though not enough, really.

I didn’t interact with my family for the rest of the night, and that’s fine with me. But I did go to bed with a grumbling stomach and still-cold toes and thighs.


	13. I'm a Non-Binary Pal, and It's Hard Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being nb can be...frustrating. Painful when people deny its existence.

I try to ignore how much my dysmorphia effects me. Junko can make that difficult. Especially when she reminds me of my brother.

“He doesn’t believe how you feel is real,” she says. “He won’t acknowledge it. No matter how logical the possibility may be, he won’t listen. Because he doesn’t want to hear it.”

“His opinion should not matter,” Sherlock says. “It is a logical probability. The only reason it hasn’t been fully proven is because until recently it was, idiotically, taboo to even think about. There are so many variables, many at this point unknown, that make you who you are. You may not know yourself better than others do but you know yourself _differently_ , with different information that cannot as of yet be scientifically collected.”

“But what if other people say what he says?” Virgil asks. “What if people shun you for how you feel?”

“You don’t have to fit into anyone’s box,” Castiel says. “No one is simple. They fit into multiple categories.”

“Every person is both the same as everyone else, and unique,” Sherlock adds. “You just happen to be a bit more unique. And all around they add up to a neutral, or perhaps even positive effect.”

“And you don’t have to listen to people who don’t understand,” Castiel continues. 

“But what if someone attacks them for who they are?” Virgil presses.

“Yes, yes, people get _killed_ for thinking they’re special enough to need a different label than everyone else,” Junko cooed.

“I don’t want to be killed,” I whimpered.

Virgil leant into my space. “Is it worse to be attacked for who you are, or suffer for being called something you’re not?”

“I don’t…” I gulped. “I...I’ll...keep quiet,” I mumbled. “I’d rather be alive...for Rose and Jadie...and I’ve suffered this long. I guess...I should be used to it, at this point.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” Cass said angrily.

“While I understand and support the idea behind your self preservation,” Sherlock drawled, “it isn’t something you need to tell everyone. Your mother has accepted it. Michael and your grandmother may not change for you, but they will willingly tolerate who you are. Rose has accepted it. Jadie is likely to accept it once it is better explained to her. Harmony has accepted it, and in your group, others will likely accept or at least tolerate it as well. And who else needs to know?”

I frowned, curling up. “People might assume I’m a woman because of these...stupid things…” I mumbled, prodding at my breasts. I fucking hate them.

“As true as that may be, does that matter?” he asked with a raised brow. “Most people who would jump to that conclusion would only be momentary acquaintances. And if you interact with them longer, you could feel out their thoughts on it and tell them if necessary. If your clothing choices do not signify it to the world, that does not mean you need to verbally assert it.”

Virgil was clearly still anxious, but Sherlock’s answer did calm us. A little. I nodded.

I’d have to deal with this for the rest of my life. Better get used to it. Even if Lucifer refuses to accept it. I am me. Even if it fucking sucks.


	14. I Couldn't Stop Laughing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes despair finds you, and won't let go. Sometimes it overwhelms you with emotion. Sometimes your feelings get jumbled. Sometimes you feel nothing at all.

I laughed.

I laughed and laughed. Tears streamed down my face.

Junko’s demented smile is looking at me with a twisted, almost lustful longing. She sees my despair, she _is_ my despair, and she _loves_ seeing me at my lowest in whatever form it may take.

“I’m so hopeless,” I said, my voice catching between laughs and stifled sobs. “I’m so broken, I’m almost entirely unlovable!”

I haven’t felt so bad in a while. Two weeks without feeling horribly down. And it came crashing down with Lucifer’s cruelty and my mother’s cold indifference to the efforts I’d made to please her. I still can’t do anything right!

_You laugh, and keep laughing. It's SO funny, you can't stop. Tears run down your face._

I couldn’t stop laughing.

None of the others showed. They rarely do in these spirals. My Anxiety is gone, all Reason thrown out for my literal hysterics. Only Cass shows up sometimes, and in those instances he, too, falls victim to Junko, and my thoughts and behaviors become strange and eccentric. And dark. 

I think about what it would feel like to twist a huge knife in my gut. Would it tear through my insides? Would I feel my organs move? I occasionally glance at my wrists, wishing I had the skill to cut without being afraid of killing myself. Even when the thought of death seemed _hilarious_. Some part of me remembered Rose. How I used to be so paranoid she would die and I’d never know what happened, how I sometimes still worry about that. I would never do that to her. I can’t abandon her. I’ve been abandoned too many times to intentionally do it to someone else.

My laughs peter out, my smile fades with it. Tears slowly slide down my cheeks rather than pouring from my eyes. I felt empty. Numb.

I know I’m broken. Unlovable. Why else would I be so alone, with only two true friends to my name? With parents who, even if they love me, treat me more like the burden I am than the ambitious child I could be, _should_ be? With one brother who hates me, rejects me, taunts me, denies me, and another who is so used to standing on his own that he will not confide in me? If I were good, I wouldn’t be here like this, sitting stagnantly in this place, wishing I were dead and never taking action, wishing I could support myself and stop being a burden but not having the tools to do so.

Junko coos and whimpers to herself, to me, sounding as if she were doing something more...private than making me realize my (lack of) worth. My lows are her highs. I’d find it disgusting if I could bring myself to care about anything beyond my own self loathing.

I’ve been thinking about Undertale lately. I love that game. It’s one of my favorites. And usually, it helps. But now, I can only think of Chara, their sick, twisted smile and hysterical laughter a mask for their pain. I think of Flowey and his bright smile despite not being able to feel things like love and compassion. I think of Sans, how he gave up on everything, how he’s so hopeless he sleeps and pranks his way through the game.

I go to YouTube on my phone and play Hopes and Dreams, hoping it would help. It does, but barely. Junko doesn’t leave, but she doesn’t make things worse either. Mostly I feel empty.

I curl up in bed, numb and wide awake, wishing to vanish into a cursed mountain, too.


	15. An Itch I (want to) Will Never Scratch (I Promise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety and dark thoughts are a bitch

I smile to myself. I’m feeling content in my despair.

I giggle, but it’s not funny.

I’m daydreaming again. But after Virgil exhausting me with worries all day until I was in tears, and with my fantasies a jumbled mess from overthinking, they aren’t good daydreams. Pleasant, maybe. Reassuring, oddly so. But good? Never.

I imagine taking a blade to my inner thighs. 

I’ve never done it. And honestly I have no intention to. But imagining, sometimes, it makes me...calm. Imagining the familiar scent of my own blood, the more familiar feeling of it on my fingers, the pain grounding me, reminding me that I am alive, it’s a comforting feeling.

Before anyone can be too concerned, my own blood is so familiar because my lips are chapped and I pull at them, and I also pull hangnails. It’s nothing bad, but I am no stranger to blood.

Sherlock keeps me from doing it. Always. He’s irresponsible so he doesn’t discourage my darker thoughts, but the moment I’m in a dangerous state, especially if I’m shaving or doing the dishes (and thus around sharp objects), he reminds me I could die on accident. I don’t know how to do it safely. Or, well, as safely as you _can_ do something like that. What if I cut too deep? My mother would waste much-needed and very scarce money on taking care of me, and if she failed, how would she feel? How would Rose, or Jadie, or even my older little brother Peeta, feel? What would they think? I can’t hurt them like that. I can’t abandon them like that. No matter how much I want to.

But I look at how fucked up the world is. How I’m sitting in my stagnant anxiety, my depression a leech sucking the life from me. I don’t think this medication is working well for me. I’m so scared and I don’t think anyone can help me right now.

I wish I could just hibernate through my anxiety. But the thing about that is, Virgil tends to be a loud and insistent alarm clock and is only ever drowned out by Junko’s lulling. And it’s still torture, listening to a constant siren overtop of an old, unnerving lullaby. Feeling dead weight in your skull, over your eyes, but feeling something crawling up and down your spine, never letting up, always begging for attention.

Instead, I read fanfiction about broken people, people more broken than me but still better than me, getting the love I can never have, and having support that I don’t. Sometimes it’s nice to read about someone doing what I don’t have the guts to...and people helping them to stop, to not feel like they need to. I almost feel loved and supported myself.

Maybe I’ll be happy one day. But that day is not today.


	16. Love

Everyone seemed to back off for a few days. Feeling hope again was...I forgot how good that could feel.

But then I fell again.

Virgil curled up on my arm, my shoulders rising and tensing to unnatural levels. Junko splayed herself over my back, arms laxly around my shoulders in a facsimile of an embrace, my eyes watering, a lump growing in my throat, and I know if I were in a world of my imagining, I would be vomiting flowers.

“Oo, look at them, aren’t they cute together?” Junko purrs as I scroll through my tumblr, two people who I follow who are dating are flirting. It is cute. I love it usually. So why do I feel like crying now?

“You could never have something like that,” Virgil mumbles forlornly. Like it pains him to say it.

Sherlock could hum reassurances, but this is somewhere he is so uncertain that he says nothing. Castiel is trying not to make my skin tingle, but he pulls my hood over my head in an effort to sheild me from the world.

It doesn’t get better. I see a friend squealing over the fact that they confessed to their crush and their feelings were reciprocated. I scroll past an rp that has a particularly hypersexual character which makes me more uncomfortable than it usually does (which is really uncomfortable even on days when even I’m gutter-minded). I think about how two of my new friends are dating and able to be there with each other while I’m so far away. I can’t help stopping myself from wanting to talk to Rose, she’s been heartbroken for months. I think of Jadie, but to my recollection she has a boyfriend and I...

Junko hums happily as Virgil shifts my sleeve over my hand and brushing it over my face, wiping the tears that decided to fall over my face.

I’m a hopeless romantic, and here’s where the “hopeless” part really pulls on me. It gets...bad. I just want to be loved so bad...and I’m lacking in it so much. 

Since joining tumblr I’ve been lucky enough to get practically swamped with platonic love, much of which I don’t deserve...but I still don’t get to hug the or hold their hand or just sit in the same room. I don’t get to hear them laugh or see them smile.

And still in all my years of life there has never been the romance I craved. And usually I can handle it. It’s fine. No one should have to put up with my bullshit, and I don’t even know if I’m ready for that kind of relationship. But it’s something I’ve always wanted, and with it everywhere now, I just...

Junko wraps a manicured hand around my neck, squeezing the air out, the other gently resting over my chest, tapping lightly with my heartbeat. I feel that urge to just somehow rip these awful feminine growths off of my body.

Sherlock tugs Junko’s hand away from my neck and nods at the table next to my bed. “Drink,” he demands, and I reluctantly grab the glass of water on it. I drink half of it. I didn’t realise I was thirsty. Then again, I rarely do.

“Things will get better,” Sherlock insists. “You felt hope for two days before the crash. That hope still exists. Your future slowly grows brighter, and will continue to do so as you put in effort.”

“I know,” I whimper. Virgil grips my arm tightly. “But I can’t help it. It hurts. I want...I want it so badly.”

“And you’ll never get it,” Junko giggles. I nod. 

“You’re safer that way anyways,” Virgil says, trying to reassure me in his own way. It helps some, but that weight is still there.

I bite my lip. It bleeds.

I’m all alone.


End file.
